


i love you much (most beautiful darling)

by orphan_account



Series: i love you much (most beautiful darling) [1]
Category: Castle
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, Gen, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 18:30:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Domestic expecting-parents fluff, set a few years into the future. For my darling Allicia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i love you much (most beautiful darling)

_"i love you much (most beautiful darling)_

  
_more than anyone on the earth and i_   


_like you better than everything in the sky_

_—sunlight and singing welcome your coming"_

__

**e e cummings**

* * *

He wakes, as he often does, to the gentle staccato of her fingers on his arm. A careful rhythm she taps into the gap of skin between the comforter and his shirtsleeve, pulling him slowly into the sunlight. Soft breaths warm his neck, moving the long tendrils of her hair in imperceptible flutters against his neck with every rise and fall of her chest.

His eyes are as reluctant to open as they always are — the light is harsh, much too bright for the morning hours, no, he's sure already that he doesn't like this — and he mumbles nonsense into the corner of his pillow, instinctively digging his heels into sleep as far as they'll still go.

"Castle," she says, softly. She is patient with him, as she is every morning. Hand moving in small circles over his shoulder in an effort to encourage his blood to circulate more quickly, the delicate roundness of her stomach dipping the mattress at his side. _"Castle."_

"Mmph," he says, eloquent, to the blankets that are just thin enough to fit the blossoming summer heat. Then, "S'too early," to her.

"It's seven a.m.," she says, like it's a crime. His vision's still blurry from sleep, but he can hear the smile in her voice — she's laughing at him as she cards her fingers through his hair. The metal of her wedding band slides just barely against his ear, smooth and skin-warm.

"But we got in at one," he mutters, mattress-muffled. This is true. They'd wrapped up their last pre-baby case close to twelve-thirty. Home's close, but not always close enough. Especially in a city that thrives in large part during the night hours.

"I know," she says, with a sigh. The mattress shifts with her when she moves back a bit, back over to her side of the bed. Immediately he misses the warmth. "But I need help getting up." He almost misses the second part, because her voice dips low, the way it does when she's embarrassed.

He blinks.

Oh. _Oh._

In moments he's in high gear, moving to her side of the bed. She despises to have to ask for help with something as simple as getting out of bed, a difficulty since she hit her third trimester, so he doesn't say a word. Wouldn't, even if it didn't bother her. The careful firmness of his hands, one at her lower back, one at her waist, do the talking. They help her first into a sitting position and eventually fully upright, with and a touch like _let me do this for you, please_ and a warmth like _I love you._

"And… up we go," he says.

"Thanks," she says softly in response, once they're both standing. So close that her eyelashes brushing the hollow of his throat, making him shiver. For the most part she's steady once she's on her feet, once she's balanced, but his hands linger on her waist a moment longer than strictly necessary.

"It seems like just yesterday you were barely showing," he says to her hair, in response. She lets out a little sound, half-laugh, half-sigh.

"Trust me, I am aware," she says, flatly. "We might eventually need to put a 'Slow Moving Vehicles' sign in the hallway." At this she groans, leaning her head against his neck. "I can't wait to be able to get out of bed without help again."

To his credit, his laughter is very soft. This may be true, but he would never tell her so. Partly because marriage to Kate Beckett is about picking his battles, but much greater in part because he doesn't mind.

"We're almost there," is all he says.

With two fingers, careful of any tangles, he brings hands up to muss the ends of her bed-head hair in that way she pretends to hate. (He knows she likes when he does this, though, because of the way she leans into the touch rather than away. She's more transparent than she likes to think, sometimes. Usually.) At her neck his fingers trace the place where her hair meets her. Carefully, so carefully, he cradles the back of her skull and he lifts her mouth to his.

He kisses her slowly as she winds her fingers in his shirtsleeve. His free hand makes its way to back to her waist, supporting her gently, holding her carefully to him. She tastes like sleep and the decaffeinated coffee.

She comes up for air before he does. Rests a hand briefly against the side of his face and starts to move away, toward the dresser, but he catches her by the wrist and drags her gently back to him. Chest to chest — or, as close as the careful swell of her abdomen will allow, he's loathe to let her go just yet. A gentle gold lights up in her eyes when the morning light hits them just right through a crack in the curtains.

"C'mon, Castle, I have to get dressed," she says, but it's fond.

"Why?" he asks, and mirrors her thoughts. "It's not like we have anywhere to go."

This is also true. Today marks her first day of maternity leave, an unbearably strange idea. She hasn't had a block of time off in years.

"That's not the point, Castle," she says, firm, but the edge of her mouth lifts upward. "I can't just lay around in my pajamas all day." With concentrated effort she manages to extricate herself from his grasp, but she does momentarily cave and press one last, quick kiss to his mouth.

"Again, I ask — why not?" He's pouting even as her follows her to the dresser.

She half-turns away to hide the smile, then,

"Because that's _your_ job."

There's a pause, and then a deeply insulted intake of breath.

"Harsh words, Beckett," he says, feigning injury, but she feels his arms go around her again where he's crept up beside her, settling in the place between the swell of her stomach and her chest.

"No coffee for you," he murmurs, but they both know it's an empty threat.

"You just can't keep your hands off me, can you?" she asks, half-distracted by the warmth of his lips on the back of her neck, and it's her turn to shiver.

"Hmm…" he says. Her skin vibrates at the same rhythm as his mouth. "Nope."

She hums, complacent. Leans into him again at last, her back to his chest.

"Guess that's not the _worst_ thing in the world," she says, more to herself than him, and smiles long past the time he lets go.

* * *

**A/N: First time writing for these two, even though I've been following the show for a little less than three years, now. Reviews and constructive commentary are always appreciated!**

* * *

**tumblr:** rainasmavias

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing for these two, even though I've been following the show for a little less than three years, now. Constructive commentary is always appreciated!


End file.
